My Valentine by Jaimie Roberts

Author:Jaimie Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Reid

“How have you been since we spoke on the phone? Any more hallucinations?”

On a smirk, I shake my head. I feel good today. In fact, I’m feeling better than I have in a long fucking time. But then again, it kind of helps when you have a crush on your therapist, and she turns up wearing an above the knee skirt rather than her normal below the knee ones. Just looking at her knees turns me on. It’s almost like peeling my first layer off her. Bit by bit, achingly slow.

“Nope, no more hallucinations,” I answer, rubbing my hands up and down my thighs. I notice Dr Mercy watching me, and it makes me wonder if I turn her on in any way. I’d like to think so.

“Have you been laying off of the alcohol and drugs?”

I huff. “I’d hardly call it drugs. It’s only a bit of weed.” She gives me an unimpressed look. “Okay, have it your way. Yes, I have been laying off the booze and drugs.”

She squints one eye, surveying me. “Are you sure?”

“Fuck me, I know we’re in Spain, but I didn’t expect the fucking Spanish inquisition today.”

“Reece,” is all she says, warning me. My dick instantly hardens.

Why is it only her that can get my dick stirring?

“Yes, I’m sure.” I smirk, even though I’m lying. Just last night alone I downed three double whiskeys. Earlier today, I’d watched that tape of the doc giving Felicia a wank, had a wank myself, and then smoked a joint afterwards. Fucking fantastic.

“Your eyes look a little bloodshot.”

She’s like a fucking hawk!

“I’ve not been sleeping much.”

And that is true. I still dream of Scarlet. In it, she’s very much alive and running after me with a knife in her hand. She’s naked, blood is all over her, and there is a manic, almost demonic look on her face. Just at the point she’s about to plunge the knife in, I wake—normally covered in sweat—and strangely enough, it’s always with the hard-on of the century. A bit fucked up, but then that’s me all over.

“Why do you think that is?” she asks, glasses held at the end of her nose as she glances up at me from her writing pad.

God, she reminds me so much of Scarlet. I realise it must be all in my head, but it’s still there.

I shrug, looking away, and I know she can read me like a book. “Scarlet,” is all she says, making me cringe.

I don’t look at her when I answer. “Yes.”

I see movement out of the corner of my eye. She bends forward, lays her note pad and pen on her desk, takes her glasses off, and looks me in the eye. “Reece, we need to address this. You won’t be able to move on until we do. There’s something you’re not telling me. I don’t need to be a therapist to work that out.” When I don’t answer, and instead look away, she sighs. “Do you feel responsible for her death?” I snap my head back to her, my eyes widening.

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